


Together we wil llive forever

by bericdondarrion



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 16:36:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bericdondarrion/pseuds/bericdondarrion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her life had become a choice of silence, a choice of solitude. She prayed for salvation. And for a girl too; and months later she birthed a son and Edmure was hanged, thrown at the river to join his sister, they said. And then she stopped praying and crying and she stood there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together we wil llive forever

Roslin could remember her face clearly; perhaps she had been blessed with such gift, lately it seemed a curse. But she did, she remembered her face and her voice and her teachings and everything Bethany was and everything Roslin wasn’t. Bethany seemed to be always there, by her side and Roslin wondered if she judged her, if she condemned her silence, if she was disappointed. If she cried for her and along her, or if her daughter had let her down in any possible way; she probably did, Roslin concluded. 

She remembered her lessons and her soft words whispering at her ear. As a small child she might have not understood their meaning. But now she did or so she hoped. Hope was all she had left these days.

Her mother believed fervently in the power of praying; her mother prayed until the last minute, for her and her brothers, for a different life, for their happiness and their safety and for something else, something outside the Twins. 

Roslin prayed too. She prayed hard and until she had no strength left, for her mother to recover, for her to live, she prayed for a miracle. But the Mother paid no heed to her prayers, or perhaps she didn’t pray enough, perhaps she hadn’t learned how to properly do it, otherwise why did they take her away from Roslin, away from her brothers and her sister and their only chance to find some happiness among the darkness of their home. 

She prayed for freedom but the years passed and she seemed stuck in the shadow of being just another frey, serving her Lord father, being what she was supposed to be as a maid of fifteen; whatever that was, Roslin prayed to find out but the wisdom of her mother had left her and she felt alone for so many years.

She prayed for a reality that seemed a dream, when her father told her she was to be Queen in the North. And she smiled and danced to the music in her head. She prayed for the King’s safety but the Gods seemed fit to take that away from her, that life from her dreams and his life as well. She weeped for him and his mother and the rest of their guests. And for her Lord husband as well, for something they could never have. For redemption, yet her mind was clouded in fears and darkness and guilt and silence. 

Her life had become a choice of silence, a choice of solitude. 

She prayed for salvation. And for a girl too; and months later she birthed a son and Edmure was hanged, thrown at the river to join his sister, they said. And then she stopped praying and crying and she stood there.

She wondered if they would name him Walder; she had no strength left to fight it, only to hold the babe closer, try to shield him from everything; she was a mother now, she had to at least try to be the shade of what her Lady mother had been. Nothing will happen to you. She had vowed countless of time, knowing the hollow sound that her voice had. Knowing it an empty promise. 

Jaime Lannister, however, had seen fit to hold the honour to name the child. A cursed name, they said, she could not hold the tears, however. She couldn’t pretend anymore. She hoped it would give him his same strength and that his child would remain a symbol perhaps, the memory of two families who had perished in this war; the extinguished houses of Stark and Tully living somehow within her babe; so be it if it was a curse. It was theirs to bare, Roslin and little Robb’s. 

Some nights she would give up to her fears and prayed little more. For someone, anyone at all, for help. She never saw him again after the wedding, Lord Edmure. She never knew if he hated her or if he loved her as she had grown to love him or the image of him that he left in her head; he never whispered soft words in her ear again. She could only remember the kind man that tried his best to make her stop crying.

When she was forceful woken up by Lothar that morning, her first instinct was tightening her embrace, bringing her boy closer to her chest. She lived in fear for him, at every moment of her life. But Lothar hardly looked at her and requested her presence in their father’s chambers instead. 

She was to marry again. And that was all she needed to know. Of course they would do that, they had the last Tully, the one proof that this family existed. She was a Tully too, whether her father accepted it or not. So Roslin swallowed back the tears and raised her head up tall. 

When she arrived to Highgarden he met the south with whispers and queer looks. They settled in one of the rooms of the castle and there had passed only a few minutes when her presence was required by Lord Tyrell; for all she knew, little or much, Mace Tyrell was Hand of the King. But Roslin knew little. Her sister Walda, the eldest one, had explained to her how she had birthed the child of a traitor, The Young Wolf's cousin; and therefore, she couldn't be trusted. Little information truly reached Roslin's ears, she had to pay attention, to listen beneath words, to look for the true meaning of people's condescension. 

In another life, in another time; she was the Lady of Riverrun. Now Riverrun was the shadow of the once proud seat of House Tully; still, she was lady of memories and she carried them with pride.

It was hard enough to leave the babe behind in the nursery. She had to reassure herself several times to avoid crying, to avoid yelling and despairing. They could not kill him, they could not. Highgarden wasn't The Twins, she told herself once and twice. And with one last kiss she made her way to the chambers of Lord Tyrell.

"My Lord", she lowered her head once inside. Shyly, impatiently waiting for them to give her a reason, to giver her an order, anything to understand what her life was supposed to be.

When she looked up she found a handsome man, with soft brown eyes and hair tied in a bow. Roslin figured this was the heir to Highgarden, Lord Willas. She had heard laughter surrounding his name; and shame too, a cripple. But only in whispers, of course, this was the heir to Highgarden and he deserved respect. Unlike Roslin, she was only the widow to a traitor, the mother to the blood of traitors and the memory of a dying cause. 

“Is The Reach how it used to be?”, he called without looking at her and she tried hard to make sense of his words but she found little. 

“My Lord?”, Roslin asked with a thin voice, the one she hated so much. She wasn’t supposed to be weak anymore. If she closed her eyes, she could hear Lord Edmure’s words of comfort again, the ones he used that night, all night long. How sweet would it be to hear him again, his laughter too. Hear him speak of their future and of Riverrun.

“The Riverlands, Riverrun”, Willas explained, “I heard everything was burned, I heard things that should have stood tall for ages were smashed to the ground”, he stood up, supported by a black cane with a head of gold, “But before that I heard it could rival The Reach’s beauty”. He was coming closer to her and she could only lower her head and try to absorb the words. “It is a shame”; he was by her side now, she knew, all light was blocked from her way and she gathered all her nerve to look up, look him in the eyes, “War is a shame”, he finished. 

She blinked the tears away and smiled, “I never saw Riverrun with my own eyes but my Lord husband whispered beautiful things about the castle”, and the life they would find inside.

“I offered up to wed you, my lady”, Willas broke the silence, “Eventually, they will find a way for my brother Garlan to inherit Highgarden but you Lord father should be happy with this arrangement for now”.

He seems kind, Roslin whispered to herself and to Edmure, if it was true what her mother said, if they could listen. But not as kind as you were.

“Why?”, she asked when he felt him moving towards the door. Willas glanced at her, his eyes seemed tired and she felt the shame for forcing him to stay standing for longer, yet she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

“I’ve never left The Reach”, he began with a faint smile, “They are too ashame, you see”. Roslin could feel his eyes on her, but she wasn’t afraid. She tilted her head slightly and waited, “But he too whispered words of your home, your true home, in his letters”, Willas moved closer to the door of the hall and opened it slightly, “Just a favor for an old friend”.

Roslin stayed there, wondering what to do next. She never saw Riverrun, but Edmure’s description seemed to fit this place too, somehow.


End file.
